


Coral Gables

by middlemarch



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, F/M, Kissing, Reunions, Romance, Sort of a fix-it, end of the trilogy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 08:33:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12077430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: Six months had felt like six millennia. His kiss felt like she'd just gotten back from the supermarket.





	Coral Gables

Jake knew what the look in her dark eyes meant. Even though he had only seen her face in his dreams for the past six months, he knew. She was disappointed, an expression he hadn’t ever seen in his sleep. He’d dreamed of her smiling, challenging him to come up with the answer to 6-across while she worked on the Sunday puzzle in his academy tee-shirt, delighted by a cellophaned bouquet of over-dyed yellow chrysanthemums from the bodega by his apartment, exasperated when he hadn’t left her a spoon for her baked oatmeal, sultry in the steam of his shower. Sleeping had been all he’d wanted to do for the first few months because he could be with her then, back at the 99, Jake again and not this pathetic, frosted facsimile. Now she was here, the bad guy taken down, Captain Holt en route to the local ER, and they’d kissed, uninterrupted by Charles or Max, the surprisingly nice EMT-turned-wingman who had removed himself with alacrity so Jake and Amy could have their moment. And he’d bombed. 

Amy had said they were on the same page again and he’d thought she was right, that their kiss would confirm it but something hadn’t clicked. For once, he couldn’t get out of his own head, overly conscious of the cheap body spray from the QuikMart, the texture of her shirt, the rattle Max made sorting something or other in the ambulance’s cab. It was a nice enough kiss but neither of them had waited six months for nice enough. He knew she wouldn’t say anything though—he had a pristine white bandage wrapped around his leg where she’d shot him and he could nearly transcribe what she was thinking, complete with subordinate clauses, about what he’d been through and how she needed to give him time…

“Amy. This isn’t what I wanted,” he began, watching her eyes widen, the disappointment turning into defeat, anguish, before she tried like hell to cover it with a sort of polite pride. He could see her mouth forming the apology, taking away the sweet, pretty shape of her kiss.

“No, it’s not—shit, I didn’t mean what you think. Just. C’mere? Please,” he said, the words charging past each other. She always liked good manners, it was the please that made her step closer to him. 

“What do you want, Jake?” she asked. He’d had a dream that went that way, but she’d been wearing a marabou trimmed peignoir and satin heels, and now she was in a serviceable blouse much creased from her bullet-proof vest and probably equally serviceable shoes that did nothing for her ankles. 

“A second shot, crap, a second chance to do this,” he said, seeing how she flinched at the word shot, then relaxed when he reached a hand to her cheek and drew her to him, touching his lips lightly against hers. He put his other hand at her waist, feeling how she moved near to him, crowding him a little. She tasted like Amy, like sunny Sunday morning Amy, and he nipped at her bottom lip the way he remembered she liked, the way that made her gasp and it did. That sound, the way her body shivered when she made it, unleashed him and then he was kissing her deeply, stroking the side of her throat with his hand, consumed by his desire for her. By his desire to make her moan, to feel her arms around him, her hands at the back of his neck, pressing him closer. He’d always liked kissing her, but this was something different, making love again after so long, messy and insistent and a little desperate until he registered how seriously, intently, desperately she was kissing him back, one hand dropped to his back and under his tee-shirt, her palm against his lower back. He was distantly aware his leg hurt and it helped; it kept him from fumbling at her belt in the open back of an ambulance and climbing on top of her, forgetting all about Max and Gina and the whole of Coral Gables, only thinking of how much he wanted, how good she felt, oh fuck how hard he was and how soft and slick she could be. Would be. The pain was all that kept him from losing control.

“Jesus, Amy,” he breathed, moving back just the slightest distance, so the words brushed against her lips. He wanted to kiss her again and he wanted to sit down beside her and feel her lay her head on his shoulder. He wanted to feel her back against him, the little spoon hogging the covers, feel how she arched into him and tickled him with all her loose, silky hair, her ponytail tie stowed on the bedside table.

“I missed you, Jake. I wanted you to come home, so badly,” she murmured. He would have said “so bad” but even the best kiss of his life after the most mediocre couldn’t shake her perfect grammar. It was an indefinable comfort.

“I am. Now you’re here, even Coral Gables is home,” he said. She kissed the corner of his mouth, nuzzled him, her hand still warm against his back.

“Pizza still sucks here though,” he muttered and heard what had woken him up from every dream, to tears Holt had never seen when it wasn’t, couldn’t be real—Amy’s laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> I was dissatisfied by the degree of (ahem) passion at the end of Coral Gables Part 3, so I did a little re-write.


End file.
